By Greg Baum
For so long, too long, an eternity, nothing happened. After all the hype, hope and heroism, it was as in the ALP party room: nobody had the numbers. At last when it arrived at a point where a 0-0 draw suited neither side, a frenzy came over the match, and it lasted until after the final whistle. But to this victor, however brave, however bold, there were no spoils.
Until it was too late, this was a group of nils, noughts and nothings. In the end, they amounted to something. Serbia, for all its potency, had scored only one goal in its previous two matches. Australia's only goal was from a goalkeeper's mistake. For better or worse, this is the essence of the game. Teams make elaborate plans to score goals , but even more elaborate plans to prevent them. By halftime last night, six matches in this group yielded merely eight goals, four by one team in one game, as if anyone needed reminding. They came back to haunt Australia last night.
Tim Cahill ... scored, but failed to take the spoils.Credit: Vince Caligiuri
In England's group, it was the same: six games, eight goals, four in one game. That was a 2-2 draw between the US and Slovenia, and was one of the best of the tournament. But seven-and-a-half hours of soccer in the other games threw up four goals.
Goallessness gives the game its agony-and-ecstasy edge, puts a fearful premium on every move, but creates a vacuum, too. It is like watching lions in repose in Kruger national park in daylight, sleekly beautiful in itself, but also for the latent promise of something even more primally compelling: the kill. With the lions, you can be pretty sure it won't happen. With soccer, ditto. The most common sound, vuvuzelas aside, is a collective groan.
Goallnessness meant that right up to the 93rd minute of the last game in England's group, one goal could change everything. It did. In Australia's group, Germany scored four in one match, but only one more in two games. It was enough. Ghana scored only two goals, including one from the infamous Harry Kewell handball. It was also enough.
But this low-scoring dynamic means that hope is never entirely lost. So it was that Australia and its fan came with voices and horns blaring. for last night's mission impossible. Green-and-gold is something of a motif and a camouflage in this tournament, being the colours also of South Africa and Brazil. It meant that the Australian fans could carry themselves with a certain self-importance. On an oi-full of buses to the stadium, they were in full and throaty voice. "Imagine if there were 40,000 of them," said a local, wondrously.
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Inside, they sounded like 40,000. Australia is the most tuneless nation on earth, but is unembarrassed and undeterred. They turned one section of the stadium into the Bondi end, complete with beach ball and one Macedonian flag. Smoke swirled in from the savannah, giving the night an apocalyptic feel.
But for a long time, atmosphere was all Australia had on its side. Serbia dominated the first half and would have led but for Mark Schwarzer's improbable reflex save. Australia's only real idea was, not for the first time, Tim Cahill. But Serbia's defence stood what it is - tall. At halftime, mission improbable had become impossible.
The second half was unrecognisable from the first. Australia upped the ante, putting the match on a manic edge, where Australia likes it. Cahill scored, of course, and with his head, also of course. How he was missed against Serbia. This was the first goal Serbia had conceded in open play in the tournament. Then substitute Brett Holman hit a prayer of a shot from 30 metres, and his prayer was answered. Here was a stroke of inspired luck Australia had lacked. A jungle roar filled the stadium now.
With the match wide open, 2-0 suiting neither side, Serbia's Marko Pantelic pulled a goal back, only Serbia's second of the tournament. It was Schwarzer's fault, but no-one will blame him. Serbia might have had another if its appeal for handball against Cahill had been granted; it became a source of consternation that was played out after the final whistle.
The whistle was a death knell. Players from both sides collapsed, tears brimming. When the deadlock at last was broken, the second half was pulsating. But it was impossible not to ask: Why so late? Why so fatally late?